<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Two Sides of a Coin by raylike</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006850">Two Sides of a Coin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/raylike/pseuds/raylike'>raylike</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clay | Dream Being an Idiot (Video Blogging RPF), Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Possible Character Death, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:02:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/raylike/pseuds/raylike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“When a coin is flipped, one side bounces on top. Two sides of one coin, only one can be picked.”<em></em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>From the moment Dream was born, he's been plagued with visions of a brown haired, brown eyed man's face. The visions are never clear, but the message is: The man is his Nemesis, his equal in every way, and only one of them could live. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Dream is a survivor, a winner, and his desperation to live is enough to spur him to train and prepare to kill his Nemesis before both of their time is up. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He's ready for anything but George. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George, wickedly smart, who still laughs when it rains, and finds hope and beauty in life even when there seems to be none. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George, who hasn't seen Dream's real face, but only the mask he wears to conceal his identity.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George, who doesn't realize that Dream is his Nemesis. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>And suddenly Dream isn't sure if surviving is worth sacrificing everything.</em>
  </em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Coconut Bread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Quick Clarification:<br/>In this AU, Dream and George share the same birthday, and are both 20.<br/>Also, the general rule of Nemeses is that if the two people are both alive by their 21st birthday, they will both drop dead.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The tree and its gnarly branches beckon to him, as if taunting Dream over his fatigue as he breathlessly wipes at the droplets of sweat that collected on his jaw with the back of his hand. Ignoring the ache in his forearms and the haze of white that fluttered over his vision, Dream continued to stagger forwards, gripping the worn wood of the axe as he hacked it into the side of the trunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep was secondary. Survival was first. Those were one of the many mottos that Dream lived by. And to survive meant he had to get his strength up- his stamina up- his flexibility up. He needed to be at the peak of his physical and mental capabilities- and train himself to be at an advantage when it was finally time to face </span>
  <em>
    <span>Him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>had no name as far as Dream knew. In fact, Dream didn’t know anything at all about the face that plagued his nightmares every night, the face that hovered at the edge of his mind as he chopped down endless trees, parkoured over thousands of rooftops, and wove traps together late into the night. Usually the picture of </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>face was nothing but a blurry mosaic, hazy brown hair and concealed features barely visible. But occasionally Dream would get more- a side profile that exposed the sharpness of the man’s features, a clearer shot of his face where the piercing look of </span>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span> muddy brown eyes caused Dream to wake up in a cold sweat. He hung onto every image he got of his Nemesis- memorized every slight marking and every slant of the man’s face until it was burned into his mind. The face was blurry but the message was clear- only one of them could remain in the world, and hell, Dream would be the one to live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When a coin is flipped, one side bounces on top. Two sides of one coin, only one can be picked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream wasn’t a bad person. The motto that was etched into the minds of everybody who was unlucky enough to be born with a Nemesis made that clear, didn’t it? A Nemesis was someone that was equal to them in every way, someone whose face appears in their dreams every night, and the world could not exist with both of them- their combined presence would go against the very foundation of life. If both of them were alive by their shared 21st birthday, they would both drop dead. The world </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dream to eliminate his Nemesis, and even if the willingness to kill was what made his friends, his family, his own </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother </span>
  </em>
  <span>leave him, then he didn’t care. Dream was a survivor. He would live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stray strand of hair falls into his eyes as he runs a blister covered hand across his dirty blonde hair, his chests heaving with heavy breaths. The axe grows heavier in his hands, and Dream resists the urge to drop it onto the rocky, puddle strewn ground to relieve the pain in his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weak. That’s what he was becoming. Couldn’t even chop down a single damn tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And to fight his Nemesis- to defeat his Nemesis, Dream had to be perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadows of the branches turn into twisted souls on the ground, the scraping of dead leaves cutting into the silence. It was the biggest tree he could find in the forest, with sturdy arms and a thick trunk that was now marred with thousands of axe marks, yet much to his frustration, the tree didn’t seem to be even close to falling, and instead seemed to stand stronger with every hit of the stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was his Nemesis that stood before him instead of the dumb tree, he wouldn’t fail. If it was his Nemesis that was in front of him, Dream would be able to cut him down in one blow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his tired thoughts, the tree slowly morphs into his Nemesis in his mind, the brown bark melting into oak coloured hair, axe marks turning into a taunting smirk that invites him to battle, and Dream rolled his shoulders back, grinding his teeth as the wind around him howls. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re deluded, Dream.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The sound of the wind melts into the anguished memory of his mother’s words. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You scare me. This isn’t you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is that all you see me as?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dreams bitter wracked response chimed in, entangling with his mother’s cries. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>A deluded, obsessive killer?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pinching his nose bridge, Dream wills his fatigue induced delusions to disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a matter of survival. Dream had to live.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he would live. No matter the cost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voices disappear, but the vision of his Nemesis does not. It tilts its head at him in a condescending manner, as if belittling him for his weakness, as if its eyes pierced right through Dream’s heart, eagerly combing through all of his vulnerabilities. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pathetic. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The vision laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newfound strength surges through Dream, as he angrily positions his right arm into the throwing position. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pitiful. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream lets the axe fly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t break eye contact with the delusion of his Nemesis, even as his axe flies straight into the heart of the vision of his Nemesis, straight into the flesh of the tree. The vision bursts into wisps of smoke that gently floats away onto the floor of dead leaves, yet he continues to stare firmly at the area of the tree where the pair of brown eyes were, burning them into his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream was a survivor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream was a survivor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream was a survivor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> And he would win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At night, he thinks of the dawn of his seventeenth birthday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really going to go through with it?” Sapnap had asked, picking the rocks out of his shoe. Beside him, Dream was sprawled across the floor, his eyes blinking in and out of sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go through with what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killing someone.” Sapnap faltered in his movements to turn to look at Dream, his expression hesitant. “I get it man, I’m scared of dying too. But is </span>
  <em>
    <span>murder </span>
  </em>
  <span>really the right answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not murder.” Dream’s voice grew heavy. “It’s survival. I’m not doing it out of pure evil, or whatever. I’m doing it so that my own damn life doesn’t end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t even know the guy. Maybe he’s a chill dude. He probably has a family too, you know. Friends that would miss him-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what?” Dream cuts in, his voice sharp. His limbs protest as he sits up to look cuttingly at the man next to him.  “If I do nothing, then both me and him will drop dead in a couple of years. The universe doesn’t care about how many friends we have or how many </span>
  <em>
    <span>puppies</span>
  </em>
  <span> we saved or </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All it cares about is that only one of us stays standing. Are you saying that I die, just so that he lives?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sapnap flinches back. “You know that’s not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to sacrifice myself?” Dream’s voice is calm- not the calm of a lone field or a blue sky, but the calm of a waveless sea before the storm erupts, tearing everything apart. “It’s his seventeenth birthday today too, you know. He’s my equal. He’s the same as me. Wherever he is, he’ll be also preparing to hunt me down, to get rid of me so that he can live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m worried about you.” Sapnap stands up to face Dream, the corners of his lips tilting downwards into a careful frown. “I know, I don’t have a Nemesis. I can’t truly understand. But if you do go through with this, this whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing, then will there even be a Dream left to live? You’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I know. Or were, at least.” He sighs. “The Dream I know wouldn’t be so casual about killing someone they don’t even know. Is murder really worth it if it’ll change who you really are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Dream you knew is gone. I’m a survivor. And if that means I have to be a killer too, then so be it.” Dream takes in a shuddering breath. “And if you aren’t fine with that, if you want me to die to some god damn stranger, then I don’t want you to interfere with my plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap’s cold eyes send shivers down his spine. A part of Dream desperately wanted to apologize, to rethink all the words that were on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out, but Dream was an ocean- steady, unforgiving, and unstoppable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all I am to you, Dream? An interference?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wind flows through the air, leaves fluttering gently in its wake. Sunrays trail happily over Dream’s skin, sending little tingles where it caressed. The day was happy, euphoric, but the tension between them felt as though the sun was about to burst into a thousand dying stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all you ever were, Sapnap. Hate to break it to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cold smile appears on Sapnap’s face, but Dream doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that skims past his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then so be it. You’re a stranger to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words echo in the present Dream’s mind, as he stared up at his torn ratty ceiling of his rented cabin. It was a lie, when Sapnap had said it then. Because they couldn’t be strangers- not after all of the late night talks, joking laughs, soft tears, and vulnerable confessions they had exchanged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at some point around a year of not talking, it had become true. The two best friends- brothers, even, fell apart to be nothing at all. Now Dream was 20, and completely alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eventually fell asleep to the sound of rain that pattered across the rooftop in woeful drum beats.  Strangely enough, that night, a small part of him was comforted by the familiarity of the face of his Nemesis that haunted his dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scent of herbs and spices immediately wafts over to Dream as he steps foot into the bustling market, and despite his usual somber nature he can’t help but stifle a smile as he catches the scent of coconut bread- his childhood favorite before his mother had cast him out of her life. A long queue of people stood waiting by the stand, much to his disappointment, but he had inhaled too much of the delicious smell of warm bread to return empty handed. Shouldering past the large crowd of people, trusty stone axe by his side, he took his place at the back of the line. There didn’t seem to be a cashier or store worker at the front of the stand- it was completely empty for some reason, despite the numerous impatient people standing about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, pitiful growls erupted from his stomach causing the man in front of him to glance back at him with amused eyes while Dream self consciously placed a hand on top of his gut. The line hadn’t resumed at all, with no sign of life being noticeable from the inside of the food stand, and several of the people in front of Dream had left the line to try somewhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>____</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later- Dream himself was about to give up, especially as most of the people in front of him in line had left, when from the corner of his eye- Finally! He saw movement come from the bread stand. Letting out a breath of relief, his eyes flicker back to the bakery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wooden axe slipped from his hands, clattering to the cobblestone ground with a crash as he stumbled backwards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He forgot how to breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He forgot everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His entire world stopped, as he stared slack-jawed at the man who just entered the cashier booth of the bread stand, their mud coloured brown eyes bored as they quickly tied a flour covered apron around their waist, every single marking, edge, and feature of the man’s face the exact same as the ones that Dream had dreamed of for every last minute and second of his entire life. His Nemesis stood there, nonchalant eyes trained on the customer in front of him, absently nodding his head at the woman at the front of the line who was currently yelling at him, his attention focused on carefully tugging plastic gloves so that they snugly fit over each slender finger. Dream didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or throw up over how absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> he looked. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That couldn’t be him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The one he’s been waiting for, dedicating his life for this past entire year. Weren’t Nemeses supposed to be one’s true equal? Dream had been expecting anybody, had been training for everything from built soldiers to cunning assassins, preparing to murder absolutely anybody despite how skilled or powerful they may be. His Nemesis couldn’t be some simple baker boy. This was all wrong, a complete deviation from his years of careful planning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if beckoned by his thoughts, his Nemesis suddenly looked up from the customer, turning his head towards Dream’s direction, and in a panic Dream pulled his hood back up, throwing himself under the table of the pottery stand right next to him to avoid his gaze. Praying that his Nemesis, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>baker boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hadn’t noticed one of his customers dramatically lunge at the floor, he forced himself to take in deep breaths to calm his rapid breathing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell was this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Was he really growing panicked over a flimsy worker boy? This was the moment that he had been waiting for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man wasn’t particularly built from what Dream could see, nor did he seem to carry any weapons on him. One axe thrown straight to the heart would be enough to kill his Nemesis in one blow, to end all of this panic and mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But would it be? His Nemesis was supposed to be his equal- there had to be something the man was hiding- a pair of aces hidden up his sleeve. Dream prided himself on being somewhat humble, but if the universe had set the baker boy to be Dream’s Nemesis, then there had to be something special about him. Something that made it a fair match. Dream was a master of all tricks and trades, but he liked things to go according to plan, and that meant knowing exactly what the opposition was like. He would need to get closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scouring his eyes across the ground around him, he searched for something he could use to cover his face and disguise his identity from his Nemesis. All there seemed to be were broken shards of clay and tablecloths- Dream began to debate over how much wearing a cut out piece of cloth over his face would detract from his ability to blend in- when he saw it: A worn, forgotten box in the corner stuffed with broken or unwanted pottery. A flicker of hope blooms in his chest as he silently begins taking items out of the box, wincing as he accidentally shatters one of the clay pots against the ground. And there it was, at the very bottom of the box: A circular, clay mask with a blank smile painted on, holes popped out for eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s immediately obvious why the mask was in the discard pile as he puts it on- the weight of the mask caused immediate tension in his neck, and he could barely see out of the two small eyeholes. It was less than ideal, but it would have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Covering as much of his face with his green hoodie to detract attention from the unnerving mask, he clambers out from the bottom of the pottery stand to rejoin the line. Luckily for him, or perhaps unluckily, the line had grown extremely short whilst he hid under the pottery stand- there were only two people standing between him and the baker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two people standing between him and the man that he had to kill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Dream waits in line, he can’t help but look anywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> the man, out of self consciousness of his mask or fear of standing face to face with his greatest enemy, he didn’t know. It felt wrong, seeing the man’s face right in front of him, clear as day, when all he was used to were hazy visions of his eyes and smirk. It felt strangely intrusive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then before he knew it, Dream was standing at the front of the line, face to face with his Nemesis, who he could see waiting expectantly for his order from the corner of his vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One coconut bread please.” Dream says roughly, forcing his voice to remain as neutral as possible, clenching his fists until the knuckles turned bone white. The red and white checkered pattern of the table wavered in front of him as his vision grew wary once more, as he grew torn between the strange urge to look up and see</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the uneasiness that made him want to run away from it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woman in front of you just took our last loaf.” came the voice in front of him, strangely delicate and soft, and shards of ice slithered down Dream’s veins into his heart, his lungs tightening with every word heard. Something felt very off- every inch of him screamed at him to leave, to throw the axe blindly as he ran and hope it would find it’s mark, but another part of him was stuck on staying, dizzy by the man’s voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taking another staggering breath in, he strengthened his grip on his axe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it his Nemesis’s voice that had such an effect on him? That made his fingers numb with fire, his chest frail with disarray? Had his own voice had an effect on his Nemesis? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can make another batch for you.” Dream can feel the man stare at his mask. A storm erupts in Dream’s chest. “You’d have to wait for a couple of minutes though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine.” Dream rasps back. “I’ll wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dizziness washes over him in waves of static. He can’t tell if it’s the weight of the stupid clay mask he wore, the overwhelming thoughts and feelings that poured over him as his body repelled itself from his Nemesis, or some combination of the two made him so faint. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get a grip. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Grasping the table, he attempts to stabilize himself, but his palm, slick with sweat, slips over the table and Dream almost face-plants into the checkered cloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright sir?” His Nemesis asks, voice slightly worried, and Dream flinches as a freezing cold hand grabs his wrist and attempts to pull him up. “Did you cut your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes meet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream is rooted as his eyes meet his Nemesis, his limbs paralyzed, his axe stood forgotten by his side. Brown eyes enrapture him, slightly cold and distant yet shocked, and electricity passes through every single pore of Dream’s body, sending fire down every nerve, burning him alive. His brain floats, his heart light, and a sense of deja vu erupts from under him in reaching hands, fingers wrapping around his ankles like cold snakes, threatening to pull him under. His entire body wailed, fighting against each limb that moved away from his Nemesis, fighting against each limb that moved </span>
  <em>
    <span>towards </span>
  </em>
  <span>his Nemesis. The brown eyes across from him are a mirror of his own stunned feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt ill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no question of “if” or “maybe” now. This man was his Nemesis. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dream snatches his arm away from his Nemesis forcefully, his other hand subconsciously grazing his clay mask as he looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice comes out cracked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” His Nemesis said, voice firm and unbothered on the outside, but Dream can detect the slightest amount of wavering that betrays confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wavering that betrayed his vulnerability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence writhes around them in fragile ribbons as they wait for the next batch of bread, enough tension in the air for Dream to cut the wind open with his axe into tangible fragments. Dream is struggling to think up some sort of plan, some way to scope more information about the man without seeming overly inquisitive, when the quiet is broken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m George.” The man offers tentatively, and Dream almost scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mundane name, a name that an ordinary mother would give to an ordinary boy. It matched his face perfectly; he seemed very much like he was a “George”, but was the person that had plagued him for every day of the past year really just called “George”? There had to be a small catch, something else that Dream was missing. Was his soft white shirt and flour strewn clothes covering layers upon layers of blades? Was he some sort of mastermind? A poison chemist? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does George know? </span>
  </em>
  <span>A frenzied part of him cries. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can George tell that his Nemesis is standing right in front of him? Is he simply pretending to not know? </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then anger boils through him, because why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>was he scared? He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A jack of all trades, a master of death. A man to be feared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” With flickering eyes, Dream steps away from the table. “Why would I care what your name is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it was getting kind of awkward so-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, </span>
  <em>
    <span>George</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Anger filters into Dream’s words, stemming from the distress deep down over the way his own body seemed to repel against itself, become so </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the presence of his George alone. “I’m here for one thing, and one thing only. And that’s my loaf of bread. I don’t care for small talk, nor do I care for acquaintances. So unless saying your name will help speed up your slow-ass oven, then I do not give a flying damn about what your name is. I don’t know what you thought-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” George’s voice turns sharp, his polite smile turning into a frown. “Chill, okay? I just told you my name to pass the time, and because you kind of looked like you were going to pass out-”</span>
</p><p><span>“Pass out?” Dream laughs mockingly, letting his anger sweep into his voice to mask his panic. “Maybe you’ve been sniffing too much flour, baker boy. Seems like you’re seeing things.” He’s saying anything that comes to his mind at this point, because he doesn’t know what to </span><em><span>say, </span></em><span>or what to </span><em><span>do. </span></em><span>All his body repeats instinctively is </span><em><span>defend defend defend. </span></em><span><br/></span> <span>“Well frankly-” A beeping erupts from the oven behind the stand, and George grabs a pair of tongs to take the loaf of bread out of the oven and into a brown paper bag. “-I have no idea what your problem is. And I don’t know what you assumed, but I don’t really care about who you are, or why you’re wearing that mask, or who you’re hiding from either.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I’m not hiding from anybody.” Dream says in a rush. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Sure. Well you do you. But unfortunately for you, I have self respect. I don’t care that you’re the customer, or whether you’re starving or not.” </span></p><p>
  <span>George tosses the brown parcel with his coconut bread onto the stand, grabbing the coins that Dream had left before. The sweet scent of the loaf wraps around Dream in inviting tendrils, but all he can think of is the man in front of him. The man he needed to kill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be disrespected. Learn some manners, or don’t come back again.” George’s eyes are narrowed, almost black under the shadows, and for a second Dream sees a flash of something cold and calculated behind them before they go back to normal annoyance. “Bon Appetit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flash of anger in his eyes, the juxtaposition between the delicacy of his voice and the weight he put on each word. There was more to George than met the eye, and Dream needed to figure out what it was. Who George was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers snatched the brown package from the countertop, eyes not straying from George’s, who glares angrily at Dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a certain aura of eloquence that surrounded George that Dream had missed originally. In all physical aspects, Dream was confident. But George emanated the threat of intelligence- a soldier always bowed down to the wise man. Something about the way George held himself warned Dream to be careful, to tread lightly around the baker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bread is burning hot under the paper bag, but his body feels as though they’re made of ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would need to find a way to find George’s weakness, to combat the shambles his body and mind fell into just on seeing his Nemesis’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why his body was instinctively repelled by George. Perhaps every cell of Nemeses were forged to shatter when meeting the other. Perhaps the universe just knew that they were not supposed to stand side by side, or were testing their limits. It was a sick game that the world played. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as a child, Dream always won at everything, no matter the game. And he would not lose now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If George was the one thing standing between him and victory, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream would cut him down. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gasoline Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream has things to figure out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Golden sparks fly as their swords clash against each other, the metal grinding as they struggled to push their full weight into each other. Dream’s arms shook under the pressure- he tried to stop the trembling of his arms but to no avail- George had already noticed and a cruel, snide grin grew across his bloody lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it too much for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream stumbles back as George continues to slam into him with a cheshire cat grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I too strong for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels tremors run through his shield, the sound of slow splintering, and panic overruns him, his heart beating out of his ribcage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your shield isn’t going to hold up for much longer.” George murmurs softly, his voice mocking. “Poor, little thing. Will any of your tears be spilled today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream snarls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but your blood will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream knows exactly what comes next in this recurring nightmare sequence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling of godly strength pumping through his veins, filling him with a newfound power and determination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look of terror in George’s oak eyes as the sword comes thrusting towards his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scent of roses, sweetening the air as he watches George fall onto the snowy floor with lifeless eyes, his blue sweatshirt now stained purple with blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all he could smell was blood, the stench engulfing his senses as he watched the body fall in front of him in a blur of green, a clay mask dropping to the ground, a crack splintered between the blank smile painted on top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream stared at his own lifeless body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh forcefully erupted from him, but it wasn’t light and airy like his own, but colder, softer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say you’re a survivor, Dream.” George’s voice comes out from his lips, and with a jolt of horror Dream reaches to pull the sword out of his own dead body that collapsed next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that you were destined to live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream angled the bloody sword to his face, trying to catch his own reflection on the sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it was never meant to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring into the blade, it is not his own green eyes that shine back, but two brown ones. His lips, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, George’s lips, </span>
  </em>
  <span>turn up against his own will, as he brings two, blue clad hands to touch his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream wakes up terrified, drenched in a cold sweat that made his shirt cling to his back in uncomfortable dampness, a strange twisting in his stomach. The room was pitch black, and as he turned on the light he frantically searched for the mirror he kept by his nightstand next to his mask, before seeing it on the floor. A sigh of relief escapes him when he brings it up to his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was his own face that stared back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank God.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wincing as the soreness of his neck from the hard bedding increases, he wets a washcloth and touches it gingerly to his face, letting out a breath as he lets the cool water seep into his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His skin. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not George’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After washing most of his face and upper neck, he opens his eyes to look in the mirror once more, and immediately grimaces. Sleepless nights that stemmed from meeting his Nemesis and trying to figure out what to do next had caused his usual pink toned skin to turn sallow and gray, and had created dark lines beneath his tired eyes. An appearance that was reflective of how he felt on the inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was the dream a sign? An omen? Some sort of convoluted message from the future? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought of the way his own body collapsed to the floor, lifeless. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was never meant to be. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Was his nightmare of George right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s derailed grin flitters into his mind again, and for the first time in a long time, Dream finally understands what the strange tension in his stomach was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fear. </span>
</p><p><span>_________</span><span><br/></span> <span>He needed to figure out George’s weaknesses. To figure out what made him Dream’s Nemesis. But most importantly, he needed to figure out what made George such a threat. </span></p><p>
  <span>That was his reasoning for waiting in the bakery line for almost an hour in the blistering heat. When Dream finally reaches the front of the line, he almost wants to cry with relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for the wait! We had a long-” George’s voice trails off when he sees Dream, his expression shifting from pleasant to sour, his lips downturning. “Oh, you again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed an excuse to talk to him. An excuse to figure out how George worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you here to apologize?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream frowned, as George looked at him expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologize? For what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. George narrows his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave. And don’t come back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_______</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream goes to the bakery again two days later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you with anything? Bread recommendations?” George asks him, his voice monotone.  “Some more coconut bread? An apology?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the words he said but the way George said it that suddenly sent Dream back into memories of his nightmare, the mocking way George would snap at him before killing him, the sword piercing through his chest as he would watch his body fall from George’s bright eyes. The way he would be trapped inside George’s body as he circled around the body, helplessly listening to George laugh on and on as he kicked clumps of snow on his back, burying him alive. A shudder wracks through him, and Dream clenches his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George misinterprets the rage in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re here to start a fight, then go do it with someone else.” George waves him off with a hand flick. A dismissal.  “I have a long line today, so I can’t entertain your weird fanatics.” But despite his casual tone, there’s an element of wariness in George’s eyes that follows his as he steps away from the table to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_________</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What would you do Sapnap?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dream asked on his sixteenth birthday. “You know, in that railroad dilemma.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap shot Dream a cautious glance, his stance on his horse wobbling slightly as he turned. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“This isn’t about your Nemesis, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap turned back around to face the rocky road ahead of them, silent, as Dream looked into the sky, tasting the cold air on his tongue, loosening his grip on the reins. The sky was gray and clouded, but Dream secretly enjoyed the overcast weather- it made everything so much more cinematic and suspenseful- like something dramatic and life-changing was about to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So your friend is tied down on one railroad, and two strangers are tied down on the other.” Sapnap repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I have to kill one of them?”</span>
</p><p><span>“Well it’s not killing.” Dream hesitates. “It’s more of picking which one should live.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“So I’m pretty much killing the other.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know man, it would probably depend on which friend it was, to be honest. But I would probably pick to save the two strangers so that less people and families are affected, yknow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the friend?” Dream asks, his voice amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah, I would definitely run you over then.” Sapnap scoffs, and Dream grabs a stick off a nearby tree and chucks it at his head, grinning at his offended expression. They make eye contact, and dissolve into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess </span>
  </em>
  <span>I would save you.” Sapnap sighs. “You’re my best friend, unfortunately.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ride in silence for a couple more minutes, before Dream dares asking the real question he had wanted to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if it was you, on that railroad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And two other strangers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you on one railroad, and one stranger on the other.” Dream says, trying to keep his voice light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sapnap sees right through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had to pick between saving myself or my Nemesis, you mean.” he shifts uncomfortably on his saddle. “Or if I had to choose between killing my Nemesis or myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream remains silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, in the heat of the moment I would pick myself to save. I would pull the lever to change the train to go to my Nemesis’s railroad.” Sapnap’s voice falters. “But just pulling a lever is different from killing. Very different. I don’t think it’s a comparable situation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream holds his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I would do.” Sapnap says softly. “It’s just a horrible situation to be in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to look at Dream once more, who was now gripping his reins so tightly that he was afraid the bones in his knuckles would pop right out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>______</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be a simple death. The cleric had assured him that the poison, taken from some endangered forest frog, would work quickly, and would end George’s life painlessly. George wouldn’t suffer from it, and hopefully that meant Dream wouldn’t suffer as much from the mental repercussions of murder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the bottle itself was daunting. A medium sized, cylindrical tube filled with a murky, black liquid, labelled with a drawing of a skull. Anyone who saw it would know immediately to stay away from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream had gotten tired of trying to figure out George, who was starting to seem like any other, shallow, worksman. And he didn’t want to waste any more time stressing over something that wasn’t even worth stressing over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan was simple. He would lure George out into the forest somehow (probably through making up some tale of customer dissatisfaction or whatever, or say his bread was poisonous), and would drop a droplet of the poison onto his tongue. It would kill George immediately- there would be no time for Dream to take off his mask, reveal his face, or apologize. All of it would be done. He could go back to his family, his mother, Sapnap. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would they forgive me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They wouldn’t, if they knew he had killed an innocent man. Dream was sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They don’t have to know. I can say that he was killed in an accident, that I got lucky. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of the lie left a bitterness in his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s sudden shuffling in front of him, and Dream suddenly stood face to face with George, who groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for heaven’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to talk to you.” Dream blurted out, trying to make his voice sound as angry and orderly as possible, but it just came out flat. George raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it an apology?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream couldn’t lie about giving him an apology. Not when George truly deserved one, but would never get it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but-”</span>
</p><p><span>George rolled his eyes. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Next.” </span></p><p>
  <span>As the next customer came pushing down the line, shoving Dream out the way to order from George, Dream gaped at George, who now had a fake smile plastered on for the next customer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His plan, shattered by nothing but stubbornness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small part of him felt relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time he fell asleep, he was George from the very beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were encircled by snowy trees again, with crystals fluttering in the air that would have been beautiful if not for the situation at hand. Across from him stood Dream himself, covered in a ruffled green sweatshirt and a mask that had more and more cracks in it every time he dreamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the terror in his own eyes from underneath the mask as they circled around each other, but a small part of him could also feel George’s own panic, hear the slight murmur of frantic planning from George’s mind, thoughts that echoed his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His distraction is broken by the clash of swords. The grunt the Dream opposite to him makes when George runs his sword through Dream’s stomach. The way the snow around his body turned into a scarlet halo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this time, when he dies, there’s no laughter from George. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be the last time he would go to the bakery to try and find out more about George. He promised it to himself. If he was unable to learn anything else, then Dream would just try and kill him blindly, however reckless it may be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nighttime- he wanted his last attempt to be later on so there wouldn’t be any customers to interrupt them, but to his dismay he could hear yelling from the bakery as he entered the town center. But as he got closer, he realized that it wasn’t the ordinary customer squabble, but something more dire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling the truth.” he hears George growl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had good business today, boy.” Came another man’s voice, rough and angry. “I can smell the cash on you. Open the till.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it his Father? An angry customer? A family friend? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, my mother already took all of the contents out the till for the day. We have nothing but bread.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This knife ain’t just decoration. If you don’t want it to be used, then you’re going to give us the damn money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A robbery. A knife-point robbery. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his breath, Dream pulled his hood tighter around his head, traipsing quietly to the back of the stone bakery wall, next to the open window. He peers in. George was standing cross armed, frowning up at the burly, snarling man in front of him that towered over him greatly. Dream’s eyes immediately land on the combat knife the man grasped between his fingers, pointed directly at George. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But surprisingly George didn’t look scared or panicked, but instead still wore the exasperated smirk that Dream had gotten used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about some sourdough bread to take home instead. It’s great for the dinner-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll kill you!” The robber roared, and George flinched back, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I’ll get the cash from the back. Stand there.” He points at the stone tile in the center of the bakery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why should I stand there? You trying to trick me? Trying to get me in a nice spot where I’ll be crushed by a breadstand you’re about to push over, huh? I’m not as stupid as I look. I’ve heard all the tricks-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” George says tiredly, and Dream takes the opportunity to slip his legs through the window, rolling onto the floor behind the counter where neither of them could see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want you where I can see you so that I know you’re not going to kill me.” George points at a rope that dangled from the ceiling right behind him. “That rope leads to our downstairs cash storage. I’m going to pull it, and you can take the staircase that’s going to appear from the floor to take all that you want, as long as you don’t hurt me or any of my family members, understood?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream continued to scoot across the floor until he was now behind the robber’s back. The knife was no longer pointed at George, and now rested by the robber’s side in a seemingly non-threatening way, but Dream could see the way his thumb curved around the handle, the tensing of the wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The throwing hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second George was going to pull the rope leading to all of his money, the knife would be thrown right into his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” The robber says. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should leave right now. Let George die at somebody else’s hands. My hand’s would be clean of anybody’s blood, and I would survive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But George was his Nemesis. And however stupid it may sound, Dream knew that to be fair, he had to be the one to kill George. He had to be the one to save himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that meant he couldn’t allow the robber to kill George first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s fingers were wrapped around the rope, about to pull. The robber’s fingers tightened around the knife, preparing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream flexed his own fingers, before jumping out from the counter towards the robber, twisting the robber’s fingers backwards sharply, loosening his grip of the knife so that Dream could wrestle it out of his hands, pressing it directly against his neck. The robber is thrashing against him, trying to use brute force to push Dream off of him, but Dream clings on, bending down to whisper in the robber’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may be stronger than me, but I’ve studied pressure points. If you continue to struggle against me, I’ll knock you out immediately, and make sure you never wake up again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the knife harder against the robber’s throat for good measure, looking up just in time to see George pull the rope. </span>
</p><p><span>But instead of opening a secret staircase, water immediately comes crashing down on top of Dream and the robber’s heads, and while Dream is disoriented the robber twists Dream’s arm away from his neck, throwing him against the wall. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Get away from him.” George shouts, but Dream couldn’t tell if he was warning the robber or Dream. He opens his mouth to respond, but a bitter, thick liquid fills his mouth. It wasn’t water. It was…..</span></p><p>
  <span>“Gasoline.” George says, and Dream turns to see him holding a lit match. The flames flicker gently under his face, warping the shadows on his face, hiding his expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You messed up.” The coldness of his voice made the hairs on the back of Dream’s neck stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The match goes flying onto the robber, and Dream barely manages to throw himself onto a dry piece of floor before half the room and the man himself goes up in flames. There was a brief second of silence, before the screams began- the most agony filled, terrorful screams Dream had ever heard of, coming from the burly, stoic man who had stood there moments before. The man who was now being burned alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stood on the other side of the flames, still as the night, watching. It was as if the bakery had turned into hell itself. They make eye contact from across the flames, and Dream shudders at the way that George’s eyes seem to be born of fire, the flickering of the fire reflected on his pale skin. Then, as if broken from a trance, George suddenly reaches up to pull a second rope, and the entire ceiling seems to turn into a waterfall, drenching the entire room, putting out the fire. The robber collapsed onto the floor, his skin blistering and bright red, but moaning, still alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mess with me.” George says quietly, bending over the robber. “Or anyone else from this village. Or next time you’ll be worse off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The robber whimpers in response, and George leans off him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a medic nearby. Down the street, take a right.” George turns around, looking at a little boy who was hiding in the corner, who Dream hadn’t even noticed. “Tell him that there was an accident with the oven, and that one of our customers got burnt severely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl nods once, and scampers off, leaving Dream and George alone in the silence. They look at eachother, and Dream isn’t able to hide the shock from his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to kill him.” George says softly. “I would never </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some people need a little warning, that’s all.” His eyes harden, fluttering down to rest on the knife next to Dream’s foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard the yelling from outside.” Dream mumbles, kicking the knife away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why? Why feel the need to save me? We’re not on especially good terms.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the right thing to do.” Dream said, the lie leaving scorch marks on his tongue. But George seemed to buy his answer, and to Dream’s surprise, turned his lips up into an exasperated smile that seemed out of place amongst all the burnt bread and drenched, charred floor.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consider us even then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you being such an ass to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was being an ass? You just dumped me in gasoline, and then dumped me in water!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was all meant for the robber.” George said dismissively. “You were just in the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream continued to look at him warily, until George let out a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The water is for incase we have any sudden kitchen accidents or sudden fires. A security measure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gasoline? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Is that a security measure too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I put that in place. This isn’t the first time someone broke into the bakery, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done this </span>
  <em>
    <span>before?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>I haven’t.” George quickly says. “It’s my first time actually using it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the ridiculousness of the situation that caused Dream to break out into sudden laughter, his hortling echoing around the room, doubling over as he clutched the wall while George continued to look at Dream thoughtfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, when I first saw you standing there next to his knife, I thought that it was me that you were here for, not him. I thought that I was the one you wanted to kill.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The adrenaline rush, probably.” Dream replied nonchalantly, struggling to catch his breath. “Makes you paranoid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s eyes remain neutral, and for a brief second Dream wondered if George knew this entire time- had figured out Dream’s identity, and was going to light him on fire alongside the robber. But then George shook his head, before beckoning Dream to the table with a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come, let me get you some coconut bread.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! If you have any positive feedback/constructive criticism/questions/just any comment in general, they are absolutely absolutely welcome! This is my first MCYT fic, so lets see how it goes!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>